A Scandalous Arrangement (27 page)

“He has no wish to marry me, nor I him. We have an agreement that suits us both. Our relationship is to be a temporary one.”

“Because he sails for America later today? He will be back, I gather.”

“Yes, he will be back. But no, it is not because of his trip.”

“I see.” Hester paused to spread a thin veneer of butter on her toast before fixing Victoria with that look again. “We owe Mr. Luke a considerable sum of money. Is this ‘arrangement’ of yours linked to that circumstance?”

Victoria met her mother’s gaze, not for the first time wondering where such a well-bred and elegant lady gained her steely grasp of the less than salubrious aspects of life. Hester Wynne was formidable, a force to be reckoned with. Her manners were perfect, her bearing beyond reproach, but when she chose to go for the jugular, she hit her mark with unerring accuracy.

“I, I… No, not really.” Victoria had no ready answer for her.

“Not really? Did Mr. Luke exploit our straightened circumstances in order to manipulate you? Coerce you?” Hester’s expression was intent. She had opened the can of worms and would have the facts if she had to drag them from her daughter as though pulling teeth, one at a time.

“No! No, he did not do that.”
Or did he?

It all seemed so immaterial now, but Victoria could fully appreciate why her mother might suspect foul play. But Mrs. Wynne was wrong. Victoria had done what she chose to do, she had had alternatives, other perfectly acceptable choices.

“I went to see Mr. Luke—Adam—in London. I offered to work for him, to manage the mill as his employee, for a salary and a share in the profits. I intended to use my share to repurchase Wynne’s from him, over a number of years. It would have taken time, but the mill would be ours again, eventually. And we would have an income to live off in the meantime.”

“I know this. We discussed it, and the economies we would need to make to remain within our reduced means. Am I to understand then that this bargain was not acceptable to Mr. Luke?”

“It was. He would have accepted my offer, he told me that.”

“I see.” Clearly, she did not.

“But, he made another suggestion. It was more… personal in nature, but would enable me to pay off our debt much sooner. I considered his proposition, and decided it was preferable.”

“And the house? Was the return of Wynne House part of this bargain you struck?”

“No, it was not. Adam knew this was our family home and he returned it to me unconditionally. We would have had our home back, whatever else I decided to do.”

“But he has only just completed the legalities. He brought the papers with him yesterday, and last night you shared his bed. Was this just a coincidence?”

“He did not invite me to his room. That was my idea. And last night was not the first occasion. I went to meet him before, in London…”

“Last weekend, I know. I had begun to piece this together for myself…”

Of course she had. Mrs. Wynne had put two and two together as she so often did, but on this occasion was coming up with rather more than four. “Mother, you have to believe me. Adam is a good man, a decent man. He has not forced me to do anything. I have done only what I wanted to do, what I chose. I am old enough to make my own decisions, and… I wanted him.”

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“A simple question. Do you love him?”

“Perhaps, a little bit.”

“How little?”

“I don’t understand.”

“In my experience a woman either loves a man, or she does not. Love does not come in graduated quantities. I am not asking if you prefer one lump of sugar or two in your tea. I am asking if you are in love with Adam Luke, and I gather from your reply that you are.”

Victoria remained silent. As usual, her mother was absolutely correct.

Hester reached across the table to take her daughter’s hand in her own. “I believe I mentioned earlier that you have impeccable taste, my dear child. If I were a little younger, and less well brought up, I might allow myself to love him too. I would certainly have slept with him, given the chance. And had I not been so happily married to your dear father, of course. I do not blame you, nor will I judge you, and I applaud your choice. You are most certainly old enough to make your own decisions, and to take responsibility for the consequences should there be any. I don’t pretend to be entirely comfortable with the manner in which this liaison appears to have started, but I accept your account of it. And I trust my instincts. Yours too. He is a good man, as you say. I like him, but still I fear you may be hurt.”

“He would never hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, I am sure of that. But, you love him, so you are vulnerable. Unless he loves you too.”

Victoria shook her head. “He likes me, and we get on very well. But he does not love me, and he has said quite categorically that he has no wish to marry. Not me, not anyone as far as I am aware.”

“That could change. I suspect you might have been similarly adamant as little as one month ago.”

“I do not wish to marry him either. I told you that, and I am happy as I am. Or I will be, once I have my mill back. I have all I want, right here.” There was a note of vehemence in her voice. If she said it often enough, emphatically enough, it would be true.

“I am delighted to hear that, of course, but if you will forgive me for mentioning it, you do not look entirely happy.”

“I just,” she started. “I do not want you to be disappointed in me. Because of this. I would never want to feel that I let you down.” She couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze, staring instead at their joined hands on the table top.

Hester reached with her other hand to tip her daughter’s chin up. Victoria could not help comparing the gesture to Adam’s. The two would no doubt find much common ground if they were to become better acquainted.

“How could I be disappointed? You are my pride, my joy. I am in awe of the way you stepped in, almost from the moment your father died, and took responsibility for this family. I could never have coped without you. You were the rock, for all of us, and you have never let me down. You never will. You have earned the right to live as you choose, and I know you will choose well. Whatever happens, I will love you and be here for you. So will Georgina. We are a family, and we will take care of each other.”

“Even Edward?”

Hester let out a mirthless laugh. “Ah, that foolish boy requires a very special, very forgiving type of care. But yes, even Edward. I would understand though if you felt unable to echo my views on him.”

Victoria considered that for several moments, then said, “I would never have forgiven him if we had lost our mill. But that is not going to happen now so perhaps, in time…”

Hester stood to come around the table and hug Victoria. “Yes, my dear. In time.”

* * *

Now, several weeks later, it seemed to Victoria that she had far too much time to contend with.

She had received letters from Adam, three in fact. He wrote to her as soon as he landed in New York, a short, business-like letter telling her to apply to Mr. Catchpole for any information she might require regarding their mutual business interests, and advising her to give careful consideration to the opportunities offered by Thomas Edison’s recent invention. A light bulb capable of providing illumination for a prolonged period of time would have profound implications for industry. He ended by reiterating his admonition regarding the perils of over-working, and hinting at dire retribution should she be so foolish as to defy his wishes in that matter. Victoria’s buttocks clenched. She knew exactly what he referred to.

The second letter reached her from a place called Chattanooga, in Tennessee. He wrote that his business in New York was satisfactorily concluded, and he was making his way overland to New Orleans. He praised the American railway system, which he claimed rivalled that now linking the remoter regions of England and Scotland, though armed guards were deployed in the more untamed areas. He wondered if the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway company might be persuaded to consider a similar practice for the stretch of line passing through the outskirts of Liverpool. He concluded that letter by hoping to be able to advise her soon regarding his likely return home, and reminded her that Horace Catchpole was at her disposal.

Victoria privately doubted she would find much she wished to discuss with the lawyer. She folded the letter and placed it with the one already kept safe in her drawer in her bedroom.

The final note had arrived just yesterday, from New Orleans. It was dated almost a fortnight ago, and in it he announced that his business was concluded. He intended to secure passage on the
Luciana,
a merchant ship of the Luke Line, which was due to sail from Baton Rouge for Portsmouth in a week’s time. Victoria hugged the letter to her chest. If he had indeed sailed on the
Luciana,
and if the ship had departed on schedule, he would be on his way home already.

He had not given an indication of the date he expected to arrive back on English soil but Mr. Catchpole would know. She was desperate for news, so much so that she resolved to swallow her instinctive dislike for the lawyer and ask him. She could send a telegram, and probably get a reply within the day.

“Mr. Timmins, do you have a moment?” Victoria had not quite mastered the wizardry of the telegraph system herself, but she knew Mr. Timmins was most impressed by it. He could charge his new assistant with the task of running to the post office to send the message.

Twenty-four hours later she still had not received a reply. She toyed with the notion of sending another telegraph, but wondered if that might seem odd to the formidable Mr. Catchpole. Not business-like. Might her eagerness for news of his client expose the true nature of her interest in Mr. Luke? She could not risk that, and Adam would soon be here anyway.

Victoria sighed, and yawned. Her pregnancy was advancing, though not yet visible to any but the most observant eye. Her infrequent bouts of morning sickness had now subsided, but she was tired, utterly exhausted by the mid-afternoon. She no longer so much as contemplated working late into the evening, relying heavily on Mr. Timmins and their newest recruit. Peggy Holroyd was another product of her little school, a bright girl, good with numbers and arithmetic. Her father worked as a labourer for Wynne’s, and had been somewhat sceptical at the suggestion his daughter might continue her education when she reached thirteen rather than the tried and tested route of taking an unskilled job in the weaving shed. He had agreed to the idea though, under some considerable pressure from his wife, and Peggy was sponsored through secondary school by the firm. She was now employed as a bookkeeper and general clerk, and according to Mr. Timmins, his seventeen-year-old apprentice showed promise.

Victoria was proud, and privately delighted to be offering an education and good jobs to girls as well as boys. She would keep an eye open for more likely candidates. Right now though, she needed to return to Wynne House and get an hour or two’s sleep.

“Miss Wynne, you have a visitor.”

Victoria halted halfway down her private stairs and turned to see Mr. Timmins standing at the top. “A visitor? I do not have any appointments. Do I?”

“No. He is asking to see you though, and declares his business to be most urgent.”

“Who is it?” She started back up the stairs.

“I do not know the gentleman, Miss Wynne. He has declined to give his name.”

Victoria’s heart sank, just a little. She had hoped it might be Adam, even though she could hardly imagine he would get to Hebden Bridge from Portsmouth so quickly. Surely he would need to attend to his affairs in London first. She followed Mr. Timmins back into her office.

The smartly dressed elderly gentleman seated in the chair opposite her desk was a stranger to her too. He stood as she entered.

“Miss Wynne, how delightful to meet you. I am Mr. Catchpole. I represent Mr. Luke. Mr. Adam Luke.” Despite his hearty greeting, Horace Catchpole’s expression was not one that Victoria would usually associate with such pleasantries. The man appeared positively dour. And more to the point, why had Adam suddenly found it necessary to do business with her through his lawyer? She had a bad feeling about this unexpected visit.

Nevertheless she accepted his outstretched hand and declared herself pleased to make his acquaintance too before settling herself back behind her desk. “How may I help you, Mr. Catchpole?”

He cleared his throat, and Victoria wondered if he was quite well. Mr. Catchpole appeared to be in some distress. His mouth was working, though no sound emerged. She might have sworn he was on the verge of tears, though of course that would be ridiculous. She was about to offer him a glass of water when he found his voice.

“Miss Wynne, I believe you and Mr. Luke have a number of business interests in common. In recent weeks I have been instructed to draw up several legal documents…” His voice faltered. The lawyer reached into his pocket for a white handkerchief and proceeded to blow his nose before continuing. “You are partners in this business, I gather.” He glanced around the office, his gaze landing on Mr. Timmins, who hovered in the doorway.

“That is true, Mr Catchpole. Mr. Luke currently owns Wynne’s Weaving Mill, though I am intending to purchase the company from him. He and I have discussed this, and we have a clear legal agreement.”

The lawyer looked her in the eye, appeared to draw in a long, fortifying breath, then, “I know that, Miss Wynne, but that agreement is now void. I regret to inform you that Mr. Luke is dead.”

Victoria was not given to fainting. She was not a fit of the vapours type of woman at all, and could only surmise it was the effects of her pregnancy that caused her world to go black as the impact of those few words hit her like a hammer blow. She was dimly aware of both men rushing toward her before she slumped across her desk.

“Miss Wynne, Miss Wynne! Victoria, can you hear me?”

The voice was insistent, familiar. Victoria resisted. She did not wish to awaken, to re-join the world where something huge and awful awaited her. She shook her head, mumbled something that was intended to be a refusal but must have been less than coherent as her tormentor was undeterred.